An Uninvited Corpse (An Anna Fairweather Murder Mystery Book 3)

by Blythe Baker

  I thought back to the bed where I’d slept growing up and some of the long nights that I’d spent there. “I do…” I said.

  “It is the same for adults,” she said. “We, too, can be so frightened of something that it almost magically becomes something else before our very eyes. Shadows and darkness remind us why we remain in the light. Anything could be hiding within…and it is never anything good.”

  I swallowed. That was certainly true.

  “I don’t like to think I cannot trust my own eyes,” I said.

  “It is perfectly understandable,” she said. “You have been through a great deal these past weeks.”

  “Witnessing multiple murders in my life…” I said.

  “Let us not think of it,” she said, shaking her head. “Not until the police can tell us more.”

  “Agreed,” I said.

  I looked up and out the window at the sprawling rooftops of London fading into the distance, the city spread as far as the eye could see.

  “I suppose I might very well be jumpy because I have returned to town,” I said. Already, some of the pain in my chest began to ebb away, as if the words themselves were the medicine I needed. “I never imagined I would come back here. Mrs. Montford never seemed terribly interested.”

  “Nor the Colonel,” Selina said. She stood and walked to the window, following my gaze out into the sky beyond. “I never thought they would return, either.”

  Hands clasped behind her back, she turned to look back at me.

  “You have said you grew up in London, right?” she asked.

  “I did, yes,” I said.

  “You have never mentioned your childhood but in passing,” she said. “I always assumed it was because it was rather difficult. Knowing what happened with your father…”

  I looked down, away from the cityscape.

  “To be honest?” I said. “There is a great deal about my childhood that I…simply do not know.”

  3

  “You do not know?” Selina asked. “How do you mean?”

  The question hung in the air of the early night. Stars had flickered to life in the navy sky, glowing like brilliant lighthouses far away. A car drove by on the street below and a dog barked in the distance.

  It might have been a pleasant evening, if it were not for the heaviness of my heart.

  “I say that I do not know because some of the most difficult parts of my life happened when I was quite young,” I said. “I simply do not remember a great deal of it.”

  “Oh,” Selina said. She shifted her gaze from the window, wrapping her arms around herself. “Did it just become colder in here?”

  She made her way to the writing desk where she turned on a lamp. The light bloomed into existence, its warmth washing over every surface in the room, piercing the shadows that had begun to swarm at my feet and near the door.

  “That’s better,” she said and then she turned to me. I could see the uneasiness in her face and the awkwardness of her stance. Strange behavior for a friend, to be certain.

  “Yes, it is better, thank you,” I said.

  She rubbed her hands up and down her arms again and then fixed her green eyes upon me. “I do not mean to pry, of course,” she said. “I am sorry if I have asked too much.”

  “No…” I said, shaking my head. “No, it’s perfectly all right. In fact, sharing a little of my past might help to distract me as I wait for the inevitable visit from the police.”

  She gave me a wary look and then slowly sank down into the chair at my writing desk. “Very well,” she said. “I have the ears to listen if you wish to share.”

  It felt rather strange, pushing aside the thick barrier that I had worked so hard to build surrounding the thoughts of my past. It had taken great time and care to detach the memories and feelings I had of my youth from the everyday moments that might have reminded me of them.

  “My mother died in childbirth,” I began. “I only knew her from the small portrait my father kept near his bed. I have it now and it lives at the bottom of my trunk. I feel nothing when I look at it, though, and that troubles me. I feel as if I should miss my mother but how can I miss someone I never knew?”

  Selina’s face fell. “How tragic.”

  I licked my lips. “My father raised me alone, until his own death. Just a few weeks after I had turned six years old, he was killed. Drowned. After that, I was whisked off to an orphanage on the far side of the city, where I remained until I was grown.”

  Selina looked up, slight surprise on her face.

  “I know you are wondering about my father’s death, but there is a great deal that I simply do not remember,” I said. “I forced myself to forget it. I could not stand thinking of it, and so when I was young, I worked to redirect my thoughts and protect myself. It took a long time but I managed to shut it all behind a wall in my mind. I am sorry if you are curious but I intend to keep it there.”

  I did not wish to tell her that the wall had seemed too thin since our arrival in London. Too many familiarities tugged at the edges of my memory, like peeling wallpaper that begged to be yanked and torn away.

  “Of course,” Selina said, shaking her head. “I did not mean any harm.”

  “I know,” I said.

  She tucked a stray piece of her auburn hair that had slipped out of her braid behind her ear.

  “You mentioned the orphanage,” she said. “You had no family, then, who could take you in?”

  I shrugged. “No one at the orphanage seemed to know anything about my mother or father’s family when I was old enough to ask. My fate seemed to be the same as many other children, which is that no one wanted them.”

  “I see,” she said. “And you were never adopted?”

  “No,” I said. “As the years passed by, I stopped expecting to be.”

  She nodded. “Then you turned eighteen and Mrs. Montford hired you?”

  “It was actually Mrs. Carlisle, as the housekeeper, who came to the orphanage and hired me, under orders from the Montfords. I was told it was one of Mrs. Montford’s charitable works, giving employment to young people just leaving the orphanage, helping us get our start in life. The nuns working there had informed her that I was a good worker, tidy in my habits, and might be suitable for training as a lady’s personal maid. That is how I came to be chosen for the position.”

  Our conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” I said, shoving thoughts of the past from my mind.

  Mr. Fitzroy stood out in the hall and stared inside. “Miss Fairweather, I am sorry but a police Sergeant has just arrived.”

  I stood. “Of course,” I said, trying my best to steel myself. “Take me to him.”

  4

  “I do regret to tell you this, but…”

  Sergeant Parsons stood near the window in the parlor, his hands clasped behind his back. The balding spot on his head shone prominently beneath the light of the lamps that Mr. Fitzroy had turned on for our meeting. The Sergeant’s hat sat idly on the end table behind him.

  He turned to look at me, sitting in the armchair beside the fire. It might not have been the way I had imagined the conversation going, with the warmly flickering fire to keep the December chill at bay or the tea that Mrs. Montford had sent for. She was present, as she insisted when Sergeant Parsons had asked to speak with me on his own.

  “Absolutely not,” she said. “This concerns me as much as it does her. I may not have witnessed the event but I was one of the last to see Mr. Hill alive. Anything you might say to her, I should be present for.”

  He had agreed, though it seemed it might have been begrudgingly.

  She sat nearer to the row of shelves along the back wall, a small library that had to replace the sprawling one from her home in Maidstone. She had a book open on her lap but her eyes were anywhere but upon the page.

  Sergeant Parsons turned to look at me over his shoulder. A long scar ran the length of his jaw, as if he had taken a direct hit from some
sort of weapon and yet lived. His eyes were quite dark, blue like the night sky he had been staring out at, but they were flat and expressionless.

  “It is as you feared,” he said. “Mr. Hill was indeed found dead at the scene of the crime.”

  The numbness had returned. In a way, I wished that I had not had to wait as long as I had. It had given me far too long a sense of reprieve. I wished I had been able to deal with what I had seen the moment it happened, without delay.

  “Good heavens,” I heard Mrs. Montford mutter behind me. It was not the answer that either of us had hoped for but it was what I had expected. I imagined she had, as well. “How?”

  The Sergeant shot Mrs. Montford what might have been considered a sour look. “A sizable wound in the chest, apparently caused by a blade.”

  Just as I thought.

  “This is where you come in,” Sergeant Parsons said, turning and taking a few steps back toward me. He picked up his teacup on the way, holding it casually as if we discussed a book or a show at the theater. “As you witnessed the crime, I need to ask you some questions.”

  “Yes, of course,” I said, in as even a voice as I could maintain.

  “How did you come to see the attack?” he asked.

  “I was pursuing Mr. Hill after he left our residence,” I said. “Mrs. Montford wished to change the time of his next session, so I followed him all the way to that street.”

  He nodded. “And then what happened?”

  “He was ahead of me. I opened my mouth to call out to him and that was when I saw a shape appear from the shadows, a shape that lunged at Mr. Hill, and—and—”

  “Attacked him?” Sergeant Parsons offered.

  “Yes,” I said. “I saw the flash of what I thought was metal. A knife, perhaps? I only saw it for the briefest of moments.”

  “We found nothing at the scene,” he said. “Though I can certainly see how you would have come to that conclusion. What happened next?”

  “I—I do not know,” I said. “I was…terribly frightened, and so I hid, worried that the attacker might have seen me.”

  “Did you see the person’s face?” he asked.

  “No,” I said. “Most of the time, they were in the dark.”

  “Was there anyone else there?”

  I hesitated. “Not that I know of,” I said.

  He pursed his lips. “I assume the culprit fled immediately afterward?” he asked. “Did you see which direction he ran?”

  “No, sir,” I said. “All I know is that he ran down the eastern side of the street.”

  He sighed, shaking his head. “Did you flee as soon as the attack happened?”

  “A few moments later,” I said. “I started down the street, thinking Mr. Hill may still have been alive but then I saw…I saw…”

  I could not bring myself to say the words, instead clamping my mouth shut.

  “I see,” he said. “Do you know what the culprit was wearing? Anything of color? Any strange shape or cut?”

  “I do not know, sir,” I said. “As I said, most of the time they were in deep shadow.”

  “All we know is that Mr. Hill was attacked, likely by knife,” the Sergeant said, scratching the end of his chin. He sent me a rather exasperated look. “Well, I suppose it was too much to hope for further information that could have helped us.”

  “You found no evidence left behind?” I asked.

  “Nothing of note,” he said. “Which is why I came to speak with you, hoping you could point us in a particular direction. Though it seems that you know nothing more than we do.”

  I suppose I do not…I thought.

  “Well, I must be getting back to the others,” Sergeant Parsons said, fetching his hat from the sofa table and placing it back upon his head. “They have been searching the area and speaking with possible witnesses. With this little information, I know that they will be needing my help. It is better to search before the trail goes cold.”

  “Of course,” Mrs. Montford said, getting to her feet. “Thank you for coming. If you have any further questions, please do not hesitate to return and speak with us.”

  He then turned his attention over to her. “Did the victim say anything that might have indicated where he was off to after he left your house?”

  “No, it was I who asked him to leave,” she said. “It was nearing dinner time and I was growing weary of sitting still for so very long.”

  “He made no mention of a place he would go afterward?”

  “No,” she said. “We simply made plans for him to return on Wednesday.”

  Sergeant Parsons nodded. “Very well, then. I bid you farewell, ma’am. Thank you for your time.”

  “Certainly, Sergeant,” she said. “Have a good night…or as good a night as you can.”

  After he vacated the room, I stared at the empty doorway, feeling hollow.

  “Thank you for answering his questions,” Mrs. Montford said, walking over to me and taking the seat opposite mine beside the fire. “I realize discussing the matter so soon after it occurred must be difficult.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Well, there is nothing that you can do now,” she said. “As he said, you provided no further information than what they were already able to deduce. It is unlikely that they will return to ask you anything else. You can confidently move beyond this matter…unlike what happened in Brighton.”

  “Well…I hope that is true,” I said. “I hope they are able to find who did it, but with so little information, I suppose it will be unlikely.”

  “Mr. Hill was a man of prominence in London,” Mrs. Montford said. “I am certain many will want to know the truth. There will be pressure to find the one responsible.”

  I nodded.

  Mrs. Montford sighed. “You must not take responsibility for this, girl. You simply happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. The attack would have happened with or without you being nearby. You understand that, correct?”

  “Yes, I do,” I said, heavily.

  “The trouble in your mind is that you were there at all,” she said.

  She rose from her seat and walked toward the fireplace, staring down into the flames.

  “I do worry that you will take this matter to heart and behave rashly,” she said, pressing the tips of her fingers together. “Just as you did at the hotel in Brighton. You believed that you needed to be the one to find the murderer, instead of allowing those better qualified to do their jobs. You allowed your fear and your determination to govern you, and I must tell you, I will not and do not support such foolish behavior.”

  I stared down at the flames, not daring to meet her fierce gaze that I could feel boring into the top of my head. She was right and I knew it.

  She paused, likely considering me.

  “You must promise me that you will not get involved in this matter,” she said. “I forbid any member of my household to be anywhere near such an unsavory business.”

  I wished the knots in my stomach would ease. Dread had settled over me and I worried that nothing but good news on the matter would make it any better.

  The way the police Sergeant had spoken about it all, however, did not give me any confidence. Perhaps Mrs. Montford would read about the investigation in the morning’s paper. I knew that she would not keep that from me if I was unable to see it for myself.

  “Have I made myself clear?” Mrs. Montford asked.

  I looked up at her and nodded. “Yes, I promise,” I said. “I want nothing else to do with the whole thing.”

  Her eyes narrowed, flashing. “Very well,” she said. “I did not think you did want anything to do with it but it pleases me to hear you say so.”

  She straightened and I could see less tension in the way she stood.

  “Now…there is another matter that I wanted to speak with you about,” she said. “After you left, Mr. Fitzroy delivered a message to me. A note from my sister-in-law, Mrs. Townson.”

  I wondered why she was telling me this.
Mrs. Montford never cared to share a great deal about her personal matters in the past. Why was this significant?

  I was well aware of the frustration between the two women, and while I did not know the entire history of their relationship, it was clear to me that they disliked one another. Perhaps it was even more than dislike.

  A sudden worry washed over me. What if the news that she had received was bad? The only reason why she would be telling me any of this was because if affected me in some way or because I would care about what was said.

  What if something had happened to Mr. Jerome, Mrs. Townson’s son?

  “She invited me to attend a play at the theatre tomorrow evening,” Mrs. Montford said. “As a means of welcoming me properly to London.”

  Is that it? I wondered.

  My mistress examined the ends of her nails, head tilting to the side. “I must admit that I was surprised to hear from her at all. I would have imagined that she would ignore my existence entirely and we would only run into one another at parties or dinners.”

  I said nothing, awaiting further information.

  “I bring all this to your attention because I would like you to accompany me,” she said. “I know that it is unusual for you to attend outings like this, but since the Colonel is no longer here, I should not like to travel alone.”

  I searched her face. I expected to find an echo of the pain that she had been fighting these past few weeks but found none. I wondered if she had begun the process of healing. I thought back to the night after the Colonel died and hearing her remorse at her lack of sorrow.

  Not for the first time, I wondered if she simply missed his constant company. She had confessed that her love for him had not been romantic as much as it had been platonic and familiar. As such, she had lost a friend, as well as her husband and companion.

  Apart from what she had revealed to me that night, she had said nothing further about her feelings on the matter. All I had been able to see was what she had chosen to reveal to me.